


Heaven

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Love, M/M, Mentions of COVID-19, Music, Politics, Romance, Singing, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26036143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Misha celebrates his last birthday in Vancouver with Jensen.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Misha Collins
Kudos: 40
Collections: Anonymous





	Heaven

Just before two in the morning, the front door to the apartment yawned open. Misha stopped plucking the strings and looked up from the couch.

“Hey, Mish.” Jensen chuckled as he eased the door shut behind him. “Looks like you didn’t waste any time.”

He was referring to the fact that he was sprawled across the living room couch, Misha assumed, rather than cloistered in the guest room and its ensuite, as he had been for the past fourteen days. That, or how he’d helped himself to one of Jensen’s guitars and was playing it shirtless.

“My test came back negative,” Misha said, by way of explanation. “So, I figured, why—”

“You figured, why wait?” Jensen strolled to the kitchen, scattering belongings along his path like breadcrumbs. Shoes here, a keyring there—he’d never been the neatest person. “’Yeah, why wait. I should fondle Jensen’s guitar.’”

Misha watched Jensen’s Adam’s apple bob as he downed a glass of tap water. In lieu of responding, he strummed a loud chord and grinned.

“Okay,” Jensen said, as Misha strummed it again. “That’s F.”

“Yeah, F. You never taught me that.”

He cocked his head. “Er, pretty sure I did.”

“Hmm, did you? Well, you can’t blame me for paying more attention to my tutor than the material. Not when he looks like you.”

“Sure I can.” Jensen placed his glass in the sink and turned off the kitchen light. He walked to the couch, pushed Misha’s feet to the floor, and sat down.

“I’m rusty,” Misha whined, promptly lifting his feet to Jensen’s lap and playing F again. “At so many things.”

“Uh-huh.”

“This is where you say something corny in a Texas drawl like, ‘well, how’s about I put you through your paces?’”

“I don’t drawl. I definitely don’t say ‘how’s about.’” Jensen stroked his thumb over Misha’s calf muscle. “Did you like the birthday video?”

“I texted you back that I did. I mean, a little on the nose with the funereal vibe, but a fourteen-hour day will do that to you.”

“It was a little weird,” Jensen admitted. “But, well, you’re weird.”

Misha strummed F in response, and Jensen rolled his eyes.

“What’d you do all day, anyway?”

“After I got my test taken care of, I ordered some Chinese food and watched the Democratic convention.” Misha turned to the television for emphasis, though he’d switched it off hours ago.

“Oh yeah. I caught bits and pieces of it. Was it good?”

“Yeah. I mean, obviously _I_ liked it. I’m a sucker for that sweet, sweet progressive propaganda.”

“Might’ve noticed,” Jensen said, tickling under Misha’s knee.

“Ah!” Misha’s leg spasmed; he played a bum chord. “It was cool to see Andrew speak. Oh, and there was this amazing kid with a stutter who Biden helped—he was so brave. And Joe?” Misha paused. “Jensen, it’ll just be wonderful to have someone who cares again. You know?”

“I know.” Jensen smiled tiredly and tipped his head back into the cushions.

“Aw, you look exhausted.”

“These heavy scenes just take so much out of you. Hand me that.”

Misha surrendered the guitar to him reluctantly. “I guess my F just wasn’t good enough for you.”

“Well, better than no F.”

“So, you admit that you never taught it to me?”

“Shh.” Jensen patted Misha’s legs away, pressed his fingers tentatively over the frets, and played. “Misha, you’re all that I want—”

“Hey, hey.” Misha tapped him with his toes.

“What?”

“No half-assing, Jensen. It’s my birthday; I want the whole song.”

Jensen pursed his lips. “Well, technically it’s not your birthday anymore.”

“Okay. Maybe I’ll technically sleep in the guest room, and we can put off our reunion one more day.”

Jensen gasped. “You mean I get the entire night to sleep without you kicking and mumbling? Where do I sign up?”

They grinned at each other for a few seconds. In the warm glow from the dining table chandelier, Jensen’s verdant eyes sparkled mischievously. Even after all these years, he still took Misha’s breath away.

“When’s your call tomorrow?”

“10:30.”

“Oh.” Misha moistened his upper lip. “We should probably get you to bed, then.”

“We? I thought—no, hoped—you were going off to the guest room in a huff.”

“Eh, the bed there’s nice. But I know how much you’ve been looking forward to being the little spoon again.”

Jensen nodded. “All for my benefit, then.”

“I’m a humanitarian.” Misha extended a hand. “Help me up.”

“Help _you_ up? I’m the one who’s been working all day!”

“But it’s my birthday.”

Jensen sighed and propped the guitar against the couch’s armrest carefully. Then, he heaved himself vertical and yanked Misha into his arms.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he said, nuzzling Misha’s nose and cheek and neck.

“I know,” Misha said matter-of-factly.

Later, entangled with Jensen in the cream sheets of his bed, staring into his eyes as the high between them dissipated into warmth and silence, Misha brought it up again.

“You still owe me a song.”

“Sheesh, Mish.” Jensen propped himself up with his arm. “When’d you get so demanding?”

“Just making up for lost time. I haven’t had you for five months.”

“Yeah. First time we’ve been apart that long…ever?”

He blinked, and the weight of what was left unspoken settled over them like the thick clouds over the bay outside. Eventually, Misha reached up to Jensen’s nape and stroked him back to the moment.

“It’s weird being here again,” Jensen said. He looked down at the bed between them. “There’s a part of me that doesn’t want it to be over, I guess.”

“We’ll be fine.” Misha traced his fingertips down Jensen’s arm. “We already talked about everything.”

“I know. It just feels….”

“Real?”

Jensen fell back onto his pillow and nodded. The faint moonglow spilled over his bare shoulders, his freshly shorn hair.

“Let’s just sleep,” Misha said, snuggling into him. “We have plenty of days until then.”

He felt Jensen’s body relaxing, and at first Misha thought that they’d drift off to those words. Then, he felt Jensen’s breath on his lips, heard his softly-rasping voice.

“Oh, thinkin' about all our younger years….”

This was how he’d begin his next trip around the sun, then—in the arms of the man he loved, serenaded in the moonlight. He felt the prickling urge to cut the bliss with irony, as he always did—a snicker to make Jensen stumble over the words, a tickle to the spot at his waist that always got him.

He couldn’t do it. Their time was too short already.

“Happy 56th Birthday, Mish,” Jensen murmured, once the song was finished.

“Shut up.”

Jensen pressed a kiss to Misha’s lower lip, and Misha chased him back to his pillow for more.

“I love you, Jensen. So much.”

“Good. That means I can start packing up the guest room.”

“I don’t know, that’s a little presumptuous.”

Jensen smiled. “Love you too, Mish. Go to sleep.”


End file.
